Here is my metaphor for how Winter affects me:
Suppose you spend your life constantly placed in awful situations, being told terrible things and eventually you build a wall. It gives you solace and your soul gets so calloused from the abuse, that you cease to notice it. Perhaps, on some sleepless night, you imagine what it might be like not to live the way you do...Then one day someone comes along and says one little kind thing to you, something so insignificant but just the same, you erupt into tears.
This is how I feel each year when Summer's harshness and darkness ends. It's like Winter is this benevolent woman, tapping me on the shoulder, whispering comforting words into my ear. And I cry. I somehow feel undeserving and awed and afraid to get used to the cool gentle beauty because it might end at any moment and Summer will return harsher than before, nosebleeds included.
Geeze, this is dysfunctional... yet whenever I'd moved to a different climate, I'd missed the 'cycle of abuse' (to carry the metaphor on further) that is San Diego's heavy Summer sun and subtle Winters.
Chin up. Stiff lip.